The Day Bernard Got Beaned
by sonny's girlfriend
Summary: Helen looked into his grumpy face, and licked her lips, eyes wide. "Um. Sorry." Her voice came out as barely more than a whisper, as her gaze went back to his ear. The perfectly normal, warm, sensitive to touch, with blood vessels...pointy ear.
1. The Dangers of Teleportation

Author's Disclaimer: I do not own The Santa Clause franchise. :P**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>The Day Bernard Got Beaned (And What Happened After)<strong>

**Prologue: The Dangers of Teleportation**

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><p>The North Pole had an Elfcon two on their hands: the reindeer Chet had taken himself joyriding somewhere, in a world with i-phones, video phones, camcorders, you name it...which meant he could be <em>taped<em>. Or maybe, knowing Chet, he'd get labeled a national disaster.

Moments after walking into the command center, Bernard took action. As Head Elf, he was uniquely qualified to find Chet and bring him back. He'd just teleport! Voila! Besides, with only two days remaining until Christmas, they didn't have _time_ to waste on chasing Chet.

Bernard focused, pictured the goofy reindeer in his mind, imagined himself arriving somewhere close by Chet in relative safety...and teleported.

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><p>Five minutes later, Bernard fully appreciated the foolhardiness of his snap decision. When the target he was teleporting to,<p>

"CHET! _Land_ already!"...in this case one _seriously in trouble_ _reindeer_, was half a mile up in the air and moving fast, 'relative safety' meant Bernard had appeared _on the reindeer's back_. And teleporting required concentration, which meant Bernard was _stuck_ there...

"AAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Or had been, anyway.

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><p>Helen stood in the kitchen, making herself hot cocoa from scratch. She figured this little thing made up for all the other stuff she just hadn't bothered with this year. Merry Christmas. Have some fresh cocoa. Yay. Not that there was anybody to entertain, except herself.<p>

After getting her cocoa, she wandered back into the tiny living room, and curled up at her usual place on the couch. Normally her house-mates were around, but now they were both away spending the holidays with family. Several weeks ago, Helen's own vacation plans had fallen through. So here she was, holding down the fort.

Helen flipped on the television. The movie _The Christmas Story_ was on, catching her slightly by surprise. Despite her plan to mostly avoid holiday movies, she let it play for a bit, since it _was_ in one of her favorite scenes. The main character, Ralphie, was currently trying to claw his way back up a plastic slide after the mall Santa had denied his Christmas wish. Helen chuckled a little as the helper elf unceremoniously pushed Ralphie's face with her curly toed shoe until he finally let go and slid down for a second time. She had watched this many times over the years, but it was still hilarious...

Helen's laughter suddenly caught in her throat, and she clutched quietly at her mug for a long moment. In the back of her mind, she _knew_ she should have changed the channel; this movie was too nostalgic. Now, a sense of _something_ was trying to overwhelm her; panic, horror, denial- maybe all of that. Tears were threatening to fall...

A knock came from the front door, shocking Helen slightly. The jolt of surprise allowed her to shunt the pain aside, and safely lock it away.

She set down her mug, turned off the television, and tilted her head to listen, just to make sure...

The knock came again; _tap tap!_ Helen ran a hand quickly through her hair, using a sleeve to brush away any moisture in her eyes, then hopped up and went to the front door. Maybe it was one of her roommates, back to spend Christmas _here_ for some reason...

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><p><em>Author's Note<em>: I wonder who's knocking? :D This is a nine story I wrote after re-watching The Santa Clause 1&2 over the holidays. Please pardon any grammatical errors, etc. :) And hopefully, enjoy!


	2. Greetings

Author's Disclaimer: I don't own Bernard or any other Santa Clause character. Helen is mine. And hopefully not _too_ much of a MarySue, but then, such is life. There are worse sins.

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><p><strong>The Day Bernard Got Beaned (And What Happened After)<strong>

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><p><em>Previously<em>:

The knock came again; _tap tap_. Helen ran a hand quickly through her hair, using a sleeve to brush away any moisture in her eyes, then hopped up and went to the front door. Maybe it was one of her roommates, back to spend Christmas _here_ for some reason...

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><p><strong>Chapter One: Greetings<strong>

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><p>Helen peered through the peephole, and saw a teenage boy. She was suddenly furious for an instant. Was this a <em>prank<em>? Then the anger left, replaced by disappointment. That's why she was _really_ angry; this random stranger showing up on her doorstep had raised and dashed her silly hopes in only a moment's time. It was her own fault, really. She was..._ridiculous_.

Helen gathered herself for a long moment, calming her emotions, then opened the door. She would find out what he wanted, then quickly send him away.

The teenager spoke before she could.

"Hello! Who am I?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, like a confused puppy dog.

Helen stared at him, taken completely off guard. He was bizarrely dressed, with longish curly dark hair, and one of his hands was planted carefully on what looked like a very painful bump on his forehead. He was squinting at her, apparently taking in her appearance as well. He went on before she could respond to his question.

"Do I know you? Or have we met? Do I live here, or...nearby?" His straightforward tone was bizarre, and Helen found herself grinning a little.

"No, you don't live here. Do you..._really_ not know who you are?" Helen raised her eyebrows at him, disbelieving, then did a double take as her thought from earlier came back. She crossed her arms, suddenly angry again. "This isn't a _prank_, is it? I'll call the police."

His eyes went wide, but not out of fear. It looked like he was trying to figure out who was in charge- and was deciding it was probably _him_. His expression became admonishing as he raised a single eyebrow.

"Now _that_ wouldn't be very nice. Why don't you invite me in, instead, and help me figure out who I am?" He grinned. "That sounds a _lot_ more productive. And friendly."

Helen didn't know why she did it. Maybe it was because part of her was desperate; terrified to spend her first Christmas entirely alone. Maybe she just knew, somehow, that this guy wasn't remotely a threat to her. He exuded something...safe.

He let himself in as soon as she stepped back. "Now that's more like it! Thanks! I've got the _worst_ headache, and it's cold out there." He wandered into the living room, and sat just where she'd been, carefully propping his head up with a pillow.

Helen came over, collected her cocoa, and went to sit in the recliner. A brief moment of silence descended, as they stared across at each other. He didn't appear at all uncomfortable just staring like that; his mind had apparently skipped over that 'awkward moment' most people experience. He was so _strange._

Helen cleared her throat. "So...you bumped your head, and lost all your memories," she prompted him.

His quiet face jumped into an ironic grin, eyebrows shooting up. "Yes. I _think_ so, anyway. But I'm sure they'll come back." He peered at her in concentration. "So, do I know you?" It came out sounding very business-like.

"No, I've never seen you before."

"Ah." He paused, and the missing awkward moment from earlier finally showed up. "Well...it was really nice of you to invite me in, then." He looked down, vague disappointment in his face. Helen got the impression he had been hoping she would sit down and tell him his life story, so he could be done with the memory loss thing and move on.

That thought hurt a bit. "Would you like something to drink? I, um...just made hot cocoa." Helen stared down at her hands, trying to keep her features relaxed. This was a stranger, not family. She was just doing them a favor. In a few minutes, they'd probably agree that calling the hospital would be best, to get him to someone who specialized in amnesia. She ought to suggest it soon, if he didn't.

"Thanks, that would be great." He smiled at her, and she got up.

"I'll be right back." It didn't take long at all. The cocoa was still on the stove, and just needed a minute before the froth came back. Soon she was back in the den, handing him a mug.

Helen grinned. "My own recipe, I hope you like it. I tend to make it pretty dark."

He took a sip, and his face became a little too serious. Helen had to suppress a grin. "Hmmmm. Not bad. Really!" He smiled up at her, with a look that said 'but I've had better, sorry'.

Helen's grin turned lopsided. "Sheesh, everyone's a critic." She turned away to make her way to the recliner again. "My br-" She broke off, and stood for a moment. It felt like a hand had reached out to grab her heart, and for an instant she couldn't breathe.

Then Helen shunted the feeling away and forced herself to move again. After sitting down, she glanced over at her guest to see if he'd noticed anything. He was sipping his cocoa, eyes closed and waiting for her to continue. As she watched, he opened them to stare at her, starting to wonder why she had stopped talking.

She gulped, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Your costume is very _nice_."

He looked surprised. "Costume?" He looked down at himself, turning one arm this way and that to look at his sleeve.

_Phew_. Helen smiled. "Wow, you really _did_ bump your head."

He frowned crossly at her. "I wasn't pretending."

"I didn't mean it that way. Sorry." She pointed. "Just, go take a look in the mirror over there. Maybe it'll jog your memory. You're wearing costume ears."

He set down his mug and got up to go look at himself in the entryway mirror. Helen stayed sitting, sipping her cocoa and watching as he looked himself up and down.

"I...don't think this is weird. I mean, I think this is how I normally dress." He walked back over to her. "And these are my real ears, of course."

She grinned at him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "No they're not, they're elf ears."

He stared down at her. "Then I'm an elf. _Look_, they're my _real_ ears."

She didn't know what to say, suddenly doubting her judgment a little. Her instincts had said he was totally safe...but there _were_ totally safe lunatics, after all.

Her grin turned into an uncertain smile. "No they're not. They're like...Lord of the Rings elf ears. And I wasn't serious about you being an elf. It was a joke."

"Who says I'm not? Maybe I _am_." He crossed his arms, one eyebrow raised again.

Helen finally stood up. "Oh, come _on_, just...here." She reached over, plucking at the tip of his left ear, and pulled up. His head followed, and he grabbed her hand.

"Ow!" He stared at her, wide eyes demanding an explanation. They both let go, but her hand remained hovering.

"Oh, sorry." Helen bit her lip, feeling bad. "They're really attached well, aren't they?" She smiled apologetically.

"They're my _ears_! Of course they're 'attached' well!" He wasn't properly yelling, but he was clearly exasperated.

"Look, I..." Helen wanted to argue with him more, but she didn't want to make him angry. She was starting to like this person, whoever he was. And she didn't want him to walk right back out the door because she didn't believe he had pointy ears, of all things.

"Okay, you're right..." She felt a little guilty, like she was helping to prolong his delusional belief, but maybe later she could come back to it. Helen looked away, glancing down as if to check where the chair was in order to sit back down.

"Now, _wait_. I can see you don't believe me." He pulled her free hand up, back toward his abused ear. "Here. Come on. _Feel_."

He frowned at her as she stared back at him. Then she slowly complied, pushing back the curls which obscured most of his costume ear. She knew there would be a point, however good his makeup, where the texture would shift, and probably even a ridge where the fake ear stopped. She felt a little sorry for him, knowing she was about to burst his bizarre belief.

Helen got all the way down to the earlobe. Then she paused, and put down her mug so she could use both hands. She felt her way down from the tip again, more slowly this time, letting her fingers carefully search.

Her guest let out a frustrated groan, startling her. "That tickles like _mad_, you know."

Helen looked into his grumpy face, and licked her lips, eyes wide. "Um. Sorry." Her voice came out barely more than a whisper, as her gaze went back to his ear. The perfectly normal, warm, sensitive to touch, with blood vessels..._pointy_ _ear_. She finally pulled her hands away, swallowing, and stared into nothing, eyes out of focus.

"_Well_? Satisfied?" He crossed his arms again, looking downright grumpy, and reached up to brush at his ear distractedly a few times, as if getting rid of any remaining tickle.

Helen sat back down. She picked up her mug, and took a sip. It was lukewarm. She stared up at him, where he still stood, waiting for her to say something.

"Why are your ears pointed?" Her voice sounded very small.

"Because I'm an elf, like you said. I guess." His grumpy attitude shifted, as he realized just how floored she really was. "Look, I _guarantee_ you there are plenty of other people with pointy ears out there. Just because you've never _met_ one before doesn't mean they don't exist."

Helen puzzled that over. "I've never heard of them, either."

"No, no, I can't remember who I _am_, but...there are _definitely_ others like me." Now, however, he seemed just a _little_ uncertain. As she watched, the energy went out of his frame, leaving him looking tired. He finally went to sit down again, and put a hand tentatively to the bump on his head.

Helen blinked, and a feeling of guilt swept through her. That looked _really_ painful, and they were sitting around talking about pointy ears! How thoughtless of her! And the elf ears thing, well, she didn't, _couldn't_...it just didn't compute.

"I apologize for being such a lousy host! Your head much be _killing_ you! Would you like a painkiller?" Helen jumped up, feeling like the worst person in the world. "Let me get the first aid kit, just a second."

It took a little hunting, but the kit turned up in one of the kitchen cabinets, inconveniently stuffed up high and behind other things. She huffed as she jumped back down from where she had to perch on the counter top to get the thing, and made her way back to the living room. She set it down on the coffee table, and pried open the tight plastic clasp, sitting down on the floor in front of it to poke around inside.

"That's really not necessary. I mean, I doubt anything in that box will make me feel better. No offense." Helen looked up for the first time since going into the kitchen to see her guest leaning forward from where he sat on the couch, forearms resting on his legs as he perused the contents of the first aid kit himself.

Helen blinked, suddenly worried. "Do you think you might react strangely to something, because you're an elf?" Then she stared back down at the first aid kit, mortified. She could feel the muscles in her arms tightening up from the sheer insanity of what she'd just said. Her head snapped back up. "You're making me a little crazy."

She said it as if it was an inconvenience that was grumping her out just a bit. Well, there _were_ worse things than having everything you thought you knew about how the world worked being thrown out the window, after all. _Right_?

He smiled comfortingly at her. It was the most caring look she had seen him give so far, and seemed out of place on such a youthful face.

"Say, what time is it? You're looking kind of overwhelmed, with the whole _ears_ thing. And I think sleep would probably help me more than anything else, anyway. Why don't we call it a day, and worry about this stuff tomorrow?"

Helen looked at him, only just realizing that she _was_ very tired, as a matter of fact. And befuddled. He was right. Sleep was what they needed. She smiled at him.

"Are you sure you don't want some aspirin or something? Ibuprofen?"

His smile faltered a little. "Well...sure. Get me some aspirin. I appreciate the help." His smile returned, if a bit lopsided.

Helen retrieved the aspirin- which was ironically not included in the first aid kit. She brought a class of water, too. When she handed them over, he set them both on the coffee table.

"Thanks." Helen yawned widely in response.

"Gosh, I'm totally falling asleep." She blinked at him sleepily, then breathed deeply a few times to buy herself a few more moments of wakefulness. "Here, follow me. You can stay...in here..." He followed her into the hallway where the three bedrooms were located, and then into her house-mate Alice's bedroom. Alice was a very tidy person. Hopefully she wouldn't mind the intrusion.

"Just..." Helen lost her train of thought. She was going to tell him...something about something. She blinked blearily up at him. "I'll be one door over...if you need anything." Helen looked at him for a long moment, smiling vaguely in a way only someone nearly drunk with exhaustion can.

She swayed on her feet, and her guest reached out to rest a steadying hand on her shoulder. And then, like a light switching off, she fell completely asleep.

Bernard stared down at the young woman who had just fainted into his arms. He couldn't remember his name, couldn't think what he did with his life or remember how he'd even bumped his head. But he knew that by _wishing_ it, and sending out the right kind of energy, he'd just accidentally put this girl Helen into a deep sleep. Touching her shoulder had only strengthened the magic.

That was right; magic was _certainly_ real. As the knowledge came to him, it solidified what he'd assumed earlier. There really _were_ other people with pointy ears in the world. Somewhere.

But until he could remember where those people were- because he felt they must be his family, if this girl reacted so strangely to him- he would stay here, and try to be grateful that he had found someone so kind as to take a compete stranger into their home.

And he would watch the magic very, very carefully.

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><p>Author's Note: Part 2 of 9 up, 7 more to go. Onward!<p> 


	3. Memory

Author's Disclaimer: I don't own Bernard or any other Santa Clause character. Helen is mine. And hopefully not _too_ much of a MarySue, but then, such is life. There are worse sins.

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><p><strong>The Day Bernard Got Beaned (And What Happened After)<strong>

**Chapter Two: Memory**

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><p>Helen woke up from the best sleep she'd had in ages to find herself lying on her bed, still fully clothed. Her bath robe which, embarrassingly, hadn't moved from where she'd hung it on her closet door for weeks now, was mysteriously pulled over her like a blanket.<p>

She got up slowly, taking a moment to stretch, and went over to her dresser to gather a change of clothes. Gosh, she just didn't appreciate how much a really nice sleep _helped_ things! She supposed it showed just how lousy her regular sleep was...

"Good morning!"

Helen jumped, clutching her change of clothes to her, and turned around to see a young man leaning against her doorway, with both his arms and legs crossed. He was grinning. "I hope you don't mind, but I cooked some breakfast. I got hungry! There's plenty waiting for you, whenever you're ready." He walked over to her, where she still stood rooted to the floor, and pointed eagerly to his head. "By the way, take a look. _Sleep_ did the trick. The bump's completely gone!"

When Helen stayed silent, his smile faltered, and he glanced down to the bundle of clothes she was still clutching. Helen knew her bra and panties were both visible, and it brought a blush to her cheeks.

He backed up a few feet, looking very nervous. "You remember last night, right?" He stared at her, wide eyed.

Helen did remember. It had come back to her as he was speaking. She was simply reacting to the fact that it _wasn't_ a dream, after all. Apparently an elf with amnesia really _had_ turned up on her doorstep yesterday.

She swallowed. "Sure, yes. I do. Thanks for making breakfast, and I'll be in there...soon." Helen smiled nervously, as he made his way back out of the room looking relieved. Then she went over and closed the door after him. She tried to be as quiet as she could when she locked it.

She didn't want him to think she was locking him out, even if she was. But that was beside the point. It just...seemed rude, or something. She didn't want to offend him. But there was _not_ going to be any more barging in like that.

Oh, this was going to be a _strange_ day.

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><p>Bernard stood outside Helen's door for a long moment. He had clearly heard the door lock, but that didn't bother him much. He was simply relieved that the sleep magic he'd unconsciously used on her yesterday hadn't erased her memory! She had been looking pretty lost there for a moment.<p>

As Bernard walked back toward the kitchen, the sound of her door locking played over in his head. Maybe that _did_ bug him, just a little. But she was about to change, right? She'd had her clothes picked out and everything. And he _had_ sort of barged in, after all. Maybe carrying her to her bed last night had made him more comfortable in her space than he had a right to feel. His mind's eye suddenly remembered the pink polka-dot feminine thing...

_They're called bras, genius._

A slight blush came to Bernard's cheeks as he finally realized just how audacious he'd been just then. Yeah, he...definitely _wasn't_ meant to see that. He needed to remember that he was a guest here, and not master of the house.

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><p>Helen came out of her bedroom only to lock herself in the bathroom next, to take a shower. So it wasn't until at least half an hour later that Bernard had company again. She came into the kitchen, quiet as a cat, and was already putting together a plate before he even realized she was there.<p>

Bernard spoke without thinking. "You're very light footed." Darn, he'd meant to tell her good morning again, to start the day off for a second time- and hopefully on a better, more polite note. He smiled at her anyway, realizing he'd missed that chance.

Helen smiled back, already feeling a little off balance again, as she pulled some scrambled eggs out of the frying pan and onto her plate. There was something strange about him- aside from the obvious, of course. What kind of amnesiac _was_ he, cooking breakfast in a stranger's house? He was all energy. And his lighthearted mood was incredibly infectious.

"Oh, here, I did some cinnamon toast." Bernard pulled open the microwave door, and took out a plate with several pieces on it.

"Thanks." Helen took one piece, smiling a little more. The toast looked rich- he hadn't held back on the sugary cinnamon coating. Bernard grabbed a piece for himself, and started munching on it.

He looked adorable, clearly enjoying every bite. Helen found it completely disarming, and the nervousness that had been plaguing her ever since he had appeared in her doorway that morning started to melt away.

"So, did your memory come back?" Helen watched as his happy face turned serious, and wished she could take the question back.

"No. I can't even remember my name." Then Bernard smiled lopsidedly at her, as if to say there were worse things.

Helen nodded, relieved to see his mood lighten again, and went to sit at the table across from him. "Well, sometimes...it takes _time_, I suppose. Right?"

He sat down across from her. "Right. Sure." He propped a hand under his chin, a sardonic look on his face. "I wouldn't really know, to be honest." He let the hand holding his chin up drop, and continued munching on his toast, a thoughtful look on his face.

They ate in silence for a little while, and Helen couldn't help thinking that he was very mature for a teenage boy. She wished she could help him remember something, anything. Surely...

"Can you picture anyone? Like the face of a family member?"

Bernard finished his last bite of toast before responding. "Ahhh...no. Nothing." He looked up at her from his now folded hands, and for the first time she could see the hint of worry in his eyes.

Helen had to fight against something for a brief moment; a strong wave of her own anxiety over his situation, maybe. But through force of will, she won the battle, and put on her brightest smile.

"Well, we've got all day. Why don't we try to figure out who you are?" She dug eagerly into her breakfast.

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><p>Several hours had gone by. They sat across from each other at the coffee table, Helen on a pillow on the floor with a notebook and pencil in front of her, and Bernard relaxed back on the couch with his hands behind his head, brow furrowed in concentration.<p>

"No, I don't know...penguins? They're okay." Bernard pursed his lips for a second. "They'd make cute dolls. A lot of kids would love them."

Helen laughed out loud, and jotted down the comment. "Cute...dolls. Got it."

She glanced up to catch his lopsided smile. "I say that kind of thing a lot, don't I?"

"Well, yeah. That and efficiency."

"What?" Bernard wasn't sure what she meant.

Helen looked up again, then set the notebook down, stretching her arms out a little. "I mean, you stress that a lot. It's like a theme with the answers you give. Just a little. Like when I asked you about what kind of mail you like getting, and you spent five minutes telling me how to make improvements on the delivery system."

"Well, to be fair, your postal system is just _bad_, and I don't even use..." Bernard paused for a long second, then pulled his arms down, crossing them. "...it. I don't even use it! Write _that_ down. I don't use the postal system. In fact, I'm not even sure I'm from America..." He grinned, hope glittering in his eyes.

Helen smiled back, and played devil's advocate before even thinking about it. "Well, pretty much _no_ one uses the postal service anymore, with e-mail. And your accent sounds pretty American to me..." She grinned happily at him, then faltered as his face fell a little.

Bernard dropped his gaze. "Right." After a moment, he got up suddenly, paused as if he didn't know what to do with himself, then turned and walked into the kitchen.

Helen stayed where she was. _How...thoughtless._ This was his memory, his entire _life_ up until last night, and she had made light about a possible hint about that life. _Geeze_.

She sighed, and put down the notebook and pencil. They had been going through this "know yourself" questionnaire she'd gotten off the internet all morning, and honestly, Helen wasn't sure it was helping whatsoever- aside from helping to pass the time, of course. But despite her guest's laid back attitude, he was upset about losing his memory. _Obviously_. And she owed him an apology for taking things a little too lightly.

Helen's stomach rumbled, and she realized it was also about time for lunch. And...it _was_ Christmas Eve Maybe chilling out for a while was the best thing to help him out for now. And fixing lunch.

Helen gave it another minute before following Bernard into the kitchen. When she did walk in, she found him sitting at the tiny dining table, elbows propped up on it, with his hands in his hair. He was staring into nothing, looking frustrated. Helen decided to let him speak first, and started toward the refrigerator to begin lunch.

"I just..._feel_ like there's something I'm supposed to be _doing_. I'm needed somewhere!" Bernard let his hands drop down and straightened up a little, staring over at Helen as though she might know who needed him.

She stopped, turning to face him completely. She could practically feel his frustration, and frowned deeply in sympathy. "_Try_ not to worry. Everything will turn out okay."

Bernard's expression didn't change. "No, I don't know about _that_. I have a _bad_ feeling. I have a job I'm supposed to be doing, and I'm letting someone down. A _lot_ of someones. I just...it's driving me _crazy_!" He got up again, suddenly, and stalked back into the living room.

Helen followed. "Look, _listen_. Worrying never helps, right?" She smiled at him as he turned on his heel and began to march back and forth, as if he had way too much energy on his hands.

"I feel guilty, sitting here _relaxing_." He paused to face her, and threw his hands up into the air. "I'm _not_ supposed to be _relaxing_! I know _that_!" He turned away from her, shaking his head as he went, and started pacing again.

"Listen, you're just a kid, still. A _teenager_. Whatever it is, it's not the end of the world, even if it feels like it to you. Right?" She smiled gently at him.

That stopped him cold. Helen watched, nonplussed, as his shoulders tightened up, visibly getting higher. Then he turned around, and marched over to her.

"Where did you get _that_ idea from? I am _not_ a teenager." One of Bernard's eyebrows was up again, trying to reach his hairline this time. His eyes were huge, and frustrated. "Try to say it with me. I am _not_. A _teenager_." He flipped around again, throwing his arms up once more as he marched away.

Helen crossed her arms, feeling a little unnerved by how intense he was being. He was so relaxed just a few minutes ago! And being like that made him feel _guilty_? And now he was offended at being called a teenager. What did he even _mean_?

She frowned, feeling her own temper trying to surface. "So how old _are_ you then? Twenty, twenty-one? I apologize. _Sheesh_."

Bernard turned to face her again, across the small room. "Listen. I knew my ears were real, when _you_ didn't. _This_ is like _that_. And I know I'm a _lot_ older than twenty-one. Try adding a zero to the end, or...or _two_, maybe. But I'm _not_ a teenager."

Helen kept her arms crossed, partly for stability. She did the only thing that made sense to her. "What, you mean you're like two hundred...or two _thousand _years old? Yeah right!"

Bernard stared at her for a long moment, then stalked over to her, and for the briefest instant she was slightly afraid. He turned away, then faced her again almost as soon as he'd finished turning, and just stared as if too exasperated to form words. He crossed his arms, mirroring her, then finally seemed to give it up as a lost cause. He rolled his eyes, letting out a huff of air, and stalked back into the kitchen.

"I'm making some _lunch_."

Helen stayed where she was for a long moment, then covered her face with her hands, fighting hard not to laugh. She knew she was pushing it, but couldn't help calling out.

"You're the most adorable two hundred year old teenager I've _ever_ met!" All she heard back was a clattering of pots and pans.

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><p>Author's Note: Please review! :)<p> 


	4. Magic

Author's Disclaimer: I don't own Bernard or any other Santa Clause character. Helen is mine. And hopefully not _too_ much of a MarySue, but then, such is life. There are worse sins.

* * *

><p><strong>The Day Bernard Got Beaned (And What Happened After)<strong>

**Chapter Three: Magic  
><strong>

* * *

><p>About forty five minutes later, they were back in the living room. Helen had followed Bernard into the kitchen to help with lunch, and while working on that they'd both avoided anything other than the topic of food. Now they both had a bowl of chicken noodle casserole, which smelled and tasted wonderful. Bernard had done the seasoning, and Helen had to admit to herself that it was pretty unusual for a teenage boy to cook as well as he did.<p>

"This is _really_ good. That's a very unusual skill for a...um." Helen's eyes widened slightly, and she suddenly wished she could eat her words instead.

Bernard didn't respond for a long moment. "Still think I'm a teenager?" His words held only a slightly grumpy edge.

Helen focused on her food, and hoped he couldn't see her blush. So...maybe he _wasn't_ a teenager. Some people just looked young like that, even into their thirties, she had to admit. She _did_ know that the possibility of him being older made her nervous. Helen was a private person, an introvert. She had few friends, and kept her private life close to her. That wasn't to say that she'd never dated. As a twenty-six year old, she'd had a few boyfriends, but nothing remotely serious- not that she hadn't _taken_ them seriously. They just hadn't gone anywhere.

And maybe it made her old fashioned, but she'd never been alone with a man for so long before, not ever. Not someone who wasn't family, anyway. An image of Bernard's grinning face came to her, as he stood in her bedroom doorway, and before she could stop herself, Helen voiced the question she'd meant to ask at breakfast.

"How'd I get in my room last night?" She stared over at him for a short moment, then went back to her food, taking her time to select the next bite. His eyes had been unreadable.

Bernard looked across at her, not sure what to say. 'I had to carry you there after magicking you to sleep' didn't seem like the way to go. Well, the carrying part wasn't so incriminating, at least.

"Oh, I carried you. You dropped off really fast."

Helen blushed again, and this time she was sure he could see the pink in her cheeks. "That...you could've woken me _up_. O-or, was I on the recliner? I've slept there before, that would've been fine." She felt completely flustered. She hadn't expected him to just come out and say it like that, even if it was the only thing that made sense. Now she felt embarrassed at it..._and_ about even _being_ embarrassed about it. As if this sort of thing happened all the time.

Bernard looked up at her again, and their eyes briefly met before she flinched away. He felt a pang of guilt about lying, and tried to respond before thinking it through. "I..." He stopped, not knowing what to say. She looked _really_ uncomfortable. And he couldn't blame her- she could probably _sense_ that something really weird had happened.

He set his bowl down on the coffee table. "Okay, I _lied_ a little. But I don't want to freak you out." Bernard waited for her to look at him again.

Out of the blue, Helen suddenly wondered if he'd had his ears surgically altered. That would make him a _very_ crazy person, wouldn't it? It was truly delusional, to do something that extreme!

She sighed to herself. Okay, that was just stupid. He wasn't a psycho, he was a sweetheart. And whatever he did last night couldn't have been that bad.

Helen finally stopped avoiding his gaze. "What did you lie about?" She put down her food, frowning. Despite her wild thoughts, disappointment was all she really felt, like he was a friend letting her down.

Bernard worked hard not to grin. She was pouting! He had no idea why, but it was adorable. He almost wanted to tell her how cute it looked, but something told him that would be a bad idea. Besides, underneath that pout lay some serious worries.

He reached over and put his hand over hers, as a sign of friendship. "Look. You _don't_ need to worry. I promise I'd never hurt you, okay? But...I _did_ use magic on you. But that was before I realized that I can. And I _won't_ do it again, I promise."

There was a strange, silent moment, in which Helen just stared at him.

He went on a little more awkwardly. "That's...why you basically collapsed in the hallway. I was _willing_ you to fall asleep, and called up some magic to make it happen. So, I'm sorry...about that."

"Oh." Helen rubbed her lips together briefly, like she did when putting on chap stick. "Right, right. Magic." She stared a moment longer, as the fact that he was being serious finally sank in.

Then she crossed her arms, feeling rightfully ticked off. "_Prove_ it. Show me some magic." This was..._insane_. Idiotic! She didn't know what to think anymore, other than she really liked this strange guy with the elf ears, but he was telling her something _completely_ ridiculous. It was too much.

"You mean, you don't believe me. _Again_?" Bernard leaned back, resignation settling in. He narrowed his eyes at her. _I've had this experience before, I just know it._ He let out an irritated huff of air. "Skeptic."

"Prove. It." Helen stared him down. "Come _on_! If you've got magic you used by accident, _surely_ you can do some on purpose. And if you _can't_..." she cut herself off, and made herself calm down. She would save the anger. There was the remote possibility he was telling her the truth. So until he completely _failed_ at this -and he _would_- she would hold off.

Bernard had sat up straighter during her challenge. _Prove it._ He wasn't sure what he could _do,_ though. And putting her to sleep again wouldn't work- if it did, she wouldn't be asking him to prove _anything_ right now.

Part of him still wanted to be angry at her, for not believing him. He was getting the idea that _wherever_ he came from, it was a really rare thing there for him to be questioned. And to be completely disbelieved? It was like being called a liar! Bernard wasn't going to get angry this time, though. He was finally starting to understand just how alien this was to Helen. She didn't believe in elves, didn't believe he could be older than twenty-something...he was messing with her world view. And he genuinely liked her. He didn't _want_ to mess with her world view; not for fun, anyway.

But he was still pretty annoyed with her at the moment. "So you need a demonstration? _Okay_. What would you like me to do?" He paused, holding up a hand. "Now _understand_, it might take a few tries. I'm not sure what magic I'm capable of, okay?"

Helen managed not to seethe too noticeably. "Right. Sure." She looked around herself, eager to put his "magic" to the test. He was too bloody self confident!

"Okay...okay. I know. This is a classic." She got up, practically running to the kitchen to get a candle and some matches. Moments later she had set them down on the coffee table, and went about lighting the candle.

"_Now_. Put the flame out. Using magic."

Bernard looked at her sideways, then back at the candle. "Right." The problem was, he wasn't sure if he could. "Here goes."

He focused, visualizing the candle flame having gone out, with just a smoking wick left in its place. He tried with open eyes, then with closed eyes. He imagined a cold wind blowing through, causing the flame to die. He focused, and focused...and _focused_. And then he leaned back, and crossed his arms.

"Apparently I can't control flame. _Ah_!" He cut Helen off before she could say anything, raising a finger to shush her. The aggravation he'd suppressed earlier was in full swing now. "That doesn't prove _anything_, other than what I _just_ stated."

Helen raised an eyebrow at him, and couldn't stop the slight grin. "Alright, fine. You choose the next test."

"_Fine_." Bernard got up, and started pacing back and forth. This was ridiculous! If only he could remember, then he'd _know_ what magic he could do, end of story. But then he probably wouldn't even be here, trying to convince a girl named Helen that he had magic.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Sure, he felt guilty about not working on...whatever it was he was _supposed_ to be working on. But then, he hadn't had this much fun, or at least been this _relaxed,_ in what felt like..._ages_. Even if he _was_ arguing at the moment.

Bernard came to a stop, and looked back at Helen. "Hm."

"Hmm? What does that mean?" Helen wasn't sure she liked the speculative look in his eyes.

"Last time I did magic, it was on you, to make you sleep..." He kept staring at her, trying to think of something that might work, something that she would remember.

"I don't like where this is going." It wasn't that she really believed he could do magic..._probably_. But still. It was the principle of the thing.

"Don't worry." Bernard walked over to her, and sat down cross-legged just next to her on the floor. His voice was thoughtful, nearly a whisper. "I just...think this is closer to what I _can_ do..." He reached out to gently rest a hand on her shoulder, making sure to touch some of the skin on her neck. Then he calmed his mind, pictured something...and focused.

A long moment went by where neither of them spoke or moved much at all.

Then Bernard pulled slowly away. His voice came out soft and gentle. "What are you thinking of?"

Helen opened her eyes, only just realizing that she had closed them. She smiled, her face glowing softly, her eyes glittering. "Gently falling snow. Gingerbread cookies. Stockings over the fireplace, and...a little toy train..." Her gaze slowly fell from his, down, down to the ground.

Helen turned suddenly away, grabbing the coffee table for support even though she was sitting, and tried to stop herself from trembling. That had been beautiful, and she wanted to be amazed, to tell him how wonderful whatever it was he had done had been...

But the moment was gone, and had twisted into everything she had been avoiding, here in this house by herself. A sob wracked her body, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She didn't _want_ to spend Christmas alone. She didn't _want_ to be the only one who, who didn't _have_ anyone to see this year...

Helen didn't _want_ to think about...

A pair of arms gently wrapped themselves around her from behind, and pulled her close. She heard Bernard's gentle voice close by. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry Helen, I didn't mean to make you cry..." He was quiet, calming. And strong. It made her fall apart even more, almost as if the presence of someone tougher than her, wiser than her, gave her the permission she had been denying herself to finally let the tears fall.

She cried for a long time before she had calming down enough to talk. There was a lot of pain there she'd been bottling up. Part of her wished she didn't need to explain, and could just sit there instead, being gently rocked back and forth like a little child while she leaned back against Bernard. Despite his somewhat short stature, she was still much smaller than him, only about an inch above five feet tall. The difference in size was deeply comforting.

"Thank you. My...my brother used to hold me like this, sometimes." Helen huffed a little, a halfway laugh, a halfway sob. "Because he said, our mom used to hold _him_ like this..."

Bernard's voice came, soothing and gentle. "She passed away..."

Helen's shoulders trembled for a long moment. "My parents passed a long time ago. My..." another sob wracked her frame, and she felt his embrace tighten slightly in sympathy. "My brother died a month ago."

Bernard remained silent. The moment she had started crying, he began putting things together- all the clues he had somehow missed. There were a few Christmas decorations here and there, but it was half hearted. And there weren't any stockings, or a Christmas tree, even though the holiday was only a day away now. There were no packed bags either, so she hadn't planned for a visit with family. Helen had hardly talked about herself at all, actually, or mentioned Christmas. Instead she had spent half of Christmas Eve helping him, a stranger- a very _strange_ stranger- try to remember _his_ life.

"I'm...I'm lucky." Bernard's eyes widened as Helen found her voice again. That wasn't what _he_ had been thinking. "I had the best big brother ever, and...the best, most w-wonderful parents. I just wish..." She stopped, her voice not letting her continue.

_She just wished they didn't have to go._

Bernard held her close for several long minutes, long enough for the tears he had silently let fall to dry. He smiled softly, and let his chin gently rest on the top of her head. "I want to get a _Christmas_ tree. Would you come with me, Helen?"

She turned around and gave him a hug, and in that moment she was like a little child, grateful and guileless. "Okay."

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><p>AN: Please review... :)<p> 


	5. Christmas Eve

Author's Disclaimer: I don't own Bernard or any other Santa Clause character. Helen is mine.

* * *

><p><strong>The Day Bernard Got Beaned (And What Happened After)<strong>

**Chapter Four: Christmas Eve**

* * *

><p>That evening they set up a beautiful tree bought earlier that day, and decorated it with a string of white lights, each little bulb twinkling gently or shining brightly in a gentle shifting pattern. It made the whole tree shimmer. Ornaments were carefully placed to catch the light. Some were sweetly nostalgic, taken from a box Helen kept in her closet, while others were delicate and beautiful, which they'd bought while out. A delicate angel adorned the top of the tree, another keepsake of Helen's she hadn't had the heart to take out until now.<p>

After setting up the tree, they baked cookies; sugar cookies and gingerbread cookies. They would have done chocolate chip too, but there weren't any chocolate chips. There _was_ milk, and Bernard set a glass out by the Christmas tree, along with a pretty plate of their cookies. Helen had laughed in delight when he explained they were for Santa. It made her feel like a little child again, and she couldn't help thinking that maybe she had been sent her own guardian angel, to watch over her.

Now Bernard was sitting in front of the tiny fireplace, trying to start a fire. A look of concentration was on his face.

"I wish I _could_ put out a flame with my mind, because that would mean I could _start_ one that way too."

Helen crouched down next to him as he struck another match. "Well, it looks like you did a good job setting it up. It should burn great once you get the cardboard lit." A cardboard box had to serve as kindling, since they didn't have anything better.

Helen grinned as a funny thought occurred to her. "You know, maybe we shouldn't _make_ a fire. Won't Santa get burned when he comes down the chimney?" She gave him a playful look.

Bernard responded without thinking. "That problem was fixed a _long_ time ago. For one, Santa's suit is _completely_ flame resistant."

Helen laughed at that, grinning as she stood up from her crouch. She stretched her back, thinking how sweet it was that he was keeping up the Santa Claus stuff. He would probably never know just how much all this meant to her.

She smiled down at the back of his head. "I'm going to make the best hot chocolate I've ever made."

She missed the look on Bernard's face after he'd answered her question. If she'd seen it, she certainly would've taken pause.

He had remembered.

He remembered who he _was_. He remembered why he'd felt guilty, and what he was supposed to be doing! He remembered his _name_! It was Bernard! And he remembered that Santa was _very_ real. In fact, he would probably be visiting in a just few hours, because if there was someone who _had_ to have made the nice list this year, it was Helen.

And then Bernard heard Helen start up some Christmas music from the kitchen, probably something off that little radio he'd seen sitting in the window. He thought about all the work he'd missed, all the last minute things he hadn't done.

And then he went back to making the fire.

The preparations for this year were over, and Santa was already on his way. Bernard was too late to help. So...he would spend Christmas here this year, with Helen.

A new song started up. It was "Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire," sung by Bing Crosby. It was one of Bernard's favorites.

* * *

><p>Later that evening, around the midnight hour, Santa Claus, known as Scott Calvin to some, found his missing head elf lying fast asleep in a tiny living room somewhere in North America. He was cozily wrapped in a soft blanket, and his young face was, for once, completely peaceful. Santa always tread carefully while delivering presents, but the gentle lull in the room made him take extra caution as he took one of the cookies left out for him.<p>

He just couldn't think of a time that he'd ever seen Bernard asleep.

Santa went about getting out the gifts for Ms. Helen Holiday, who was sleeping nearby in the recliner. When he was done with that, he did what he did best, and improvised.

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><p>AN: Please review. :)<p> 


	6. Christmas Morning

Author's Disclaimer: I don't own Bernard or any other Santa Clause character. Helen is mine.

* * *

><p><strong>The Day Bernard Got Beaned (And What Happened After)<strong>

**Chapter Five: Christmas Morning**

* * *

><p>Helen awoke Christmas morning to the sound of her house guest humming in the kitchen. A delicious smell hit her nose, and she slowly stretched, pushing herself into a sitting position after a minute. She looked around, and as her gaze took in the Christmas tree she couldn't help but notice the presents underneath.<p>

"Here." Helen turned back around, eyes still wide, to see Bernard holding a steaming mug out to her.

"Thanks." She grinned up at him. "And Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" Bernard smiled lopsidedly as Helen held the mug under her nose and breathed in deeply. "It's sweetened milk I simmered with cloves, cinnamon, and cardamom seeds."

She took a careful sip. "It's wonderful, thank you. It's smells like Christmas." Helen looked pointedly over to the tree. "By the way, we have Christmas presents!" She grinned back up at him. "How did you...?"

She paused as Bernard raised an amused hand. "You can't give me credit for _that_. It was Santa."

Helen smiled gently up at him, her heart overflowing with gratitude. "Right, of course."

There had been a catharsis for her yesterday. Helen had been holding herself stiffly still, not allowing herself to confront her brother's death. It was why she had stayed here alone. She hadn't wanted to tell her roommates, and hadn't wanted to impose on a friend, especially since they would have been curious about why her plans had fallen through. She had been living in a tiny, boxed in place, a careful parallel reality in which see had simply decided that Christmas wasn't all that important and she'd just putter around on her own this year.

But somehow, unexpectedly, this wonderful person had come into her life. And now she could _feel_ herself beginning to heal. There would be very, very hard days ahead. But for the moment, that pain wasn't overwhelming her as it had yesterday, when she had finally broken down for a while. Helen could actually feel the joy of Christmas morning in her heart, something she hadn't thought possible a day ago.

And she couldn't help feeling incredibly grateful for that. Miraculously, it seemed to Helen, she was spending her Christmas with someone who would go out in the middle of the night and somehow find and wrap these beautiful presents for her...and then fix this wonderful drink, and...

She hadn't had to face this Christmas alone after all.

"Well, don't you want to open your presents?" Bernard was still grinning down at her, and Helen realized that _yes_, she really did.

She set her drink down, and went to sit next to the tree, just like she had as a kid. She reached for the nearest box, and read the tiny card at the top.

"Hmm." Helen tilted her head, curious, and looked up to Bernard, who had walked closer but still stood, arms crossed in a relaxed, almost paternal pose.

She read the card out loud. "To Bernard, my head elf." He stared back at her for a moment, arms uncrossing. "Is that your name?"

"Yes..." Bernard sat down next to her on the floor, and slowly took the present from her. "But I wasn't expecting any presents."

Helen didn't say anything. She had thought _he_ was the one to get them in the first place, but he was genuinely surprised. She smiled anyway, deciding it would become clear at some point. "Well, go ahead and open it...Bernard."

Then she did a double take. "Wait! Does this mean you remember who you _are_?"

Bernard's gaze came up from the present he still carefully, almost tentatively, held. He tilted his head self deprecatingly, as if embarrassed about not immediately telling her. "I...remembered last night."

"Well, that's..._wonderful_." Helen shook her head. "This is..." She paused, as her emotions nearly got the better of her. "This is really _perfect_, you getting your memory back."

Bernard raised his head to look at her properly, and his sheepish smile melted into something more joyful. She wasn't annoyed with him, and was only happy for him. It made his decision to stay glow in his mind as the right thing to have done. "Yeah, it _is_ perfect."

"Well? Are you going to open your present?" Helen smirked a little, then faltered, as something serious occurred to her. "Unless you have..."

Bernard cut her off, knowing what she was thinking. "Don't worry, I don't need to call anyone." He smirked. "They know where I am- and, heck, I'll explain _everything_. Just not right now, okay?"

Her concern softened. "Sure."

Bernard tore into the wrapping paper, and before long he was holding a bizarre set of items, all encased in the same plastic mold. He read the inscription found at the top out loud.

"Reindeer Rodeo Kit." It included a teeny-tiny whip, which Bernard knew he'd never use in a million years, what looked like a foldable reindeer-sized saddle, and, _yes_, a seatbelt which hooked conveniently into the saddle. He just started for a long moment. Then he started laughing.

It was the kind of laugh that grew and grew, and had Helen joining in, despite being mostly in the dark. After several long moments, Bernard weakly leaned over and grabbed a present meant for Helen, putting a hand to his stomach as a few more laughs escaped.

"H-here..." He ran a hand across his eyes, wiping away the moisture there. "Open it..."

After seeing him laugh so hard, Helen _really_ wanted to know about the reindeer saddle But she also knew it had to tie in, again, with the "everything" about himself he promised to explain later. And if it didn't, she would _definitely_ be asking. She took the present.

It turned out to be a pair of socks. This might have seemed like a boring gift to some, but it wasn't for Helen. These were special. They went up well above the knees, and had a a pretty blue plaid pattern. They were made of a combination of pashmina wool, the softest in the world, along with cotton as well as angora fur, which was taken from rabbits that were specially kept for their fur without having to be slaughtered.

Helen knew all of this because she had sent an e-mail with a link to these exact socks several months back, as a hint to her brother. It was something they did for each other, so they'd each get stuff they really wanted. And somehow, those socks had gotten under this tree.

It really _was_ a miracle. Helen hugged the socks to her, crying just a little. It was a bittersweet gift now, but it almost felt like her brother was here somehow. And she couldn't express how much that meant to her.

"Bernard..." Helen bit her lip as she looked over at him, then looked back to the socks and shook her head. She put them down, and crawled forward the few feet it took to get to him. She placed a kiss on his cheek, and stared at him with awe in her eyes. "You're an angel."

She meant it as something between a statement and a question, because she really wasn't sure anymore. Maybe...maybe angels had pointy ears?

"Nope. I'm just an elf." He looked back at her with more wisdom and gentle joy than she could think of seeing in _anyone's_ face in a very long time, and for the first time it dawned on her that Bernard really _wasn't_ a teenager. Or anything close to it.

They put aside the presents for a while, and took up their mugs again, as Bernard explained who and what he was.

* * *

><p>AN: I've got a recipe for that seasoned milk, if anyone's curious. :) 'tis good stuff. Please review! :)<p> 


	7. Christmas Conversation

Author's Disclaimer: I don't own Bernard or any other Santa Clause character. Helen is mine.

* * *

><p><strong>The Day Bernard Got Beaned (And What Happened After)<strong>

**Chapter Six: Christmas Conversation**

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Bernard and Helen were making themselves an improvised Christmas dinner- or more of a lunch. After Bernard finished telling Helen about himself, they had both gotten another mug of seasoned milk while opening the remaining presents. But milk wasn't much of a meal.<p>

Their conversation had quickly gotten back to Bernard, and what he did for work.

"I still can't believe you aren't questioning this more. Most people your age just can't accept what I am, you know."

Helen smirked as she chopped vegetables. "Hey! I'm not _that_ old."

"I mean, you're a grownup."

"Oh, right." Bernard looked sideways at her as he mixed something, and saw that she wasn't being sarcastic at all. He generally disliked grownups, but Helen was definitely an exception. She had an extremely sincere quality to her, and her entire manner was soothing and calm, never rushed. He realized she was quite a contrast to himself. _His_ mannerisms tended to be over the top, he raised his voice frequently, and he always seemed to be rushing, rushing, rushing...

And half the time, he was a downright grump.

_Huh_. Right up until this very minute, he hadn't really acknowledged that about himself. Maybe losing your memory had its benefits- it gave you perspective.

Or maybe the _real_ reason...was Helen. No matter how much stress being Head Elf might bring him any given year, it was nowhere near what losing your nearest and dearest had to feel like.

Bernard's thoughts turned to another gift Helen had received: a set of various family photos she had thought to be lost years back. They were even set into an album for her, all courtesy of Santa. Bernard knew Santa had pulled out all the stops for a gift like that, but was glad for it. Helen both deserved and appreciated it.

Bernard, meanwhile, had received socks; the _normal_ kind. Another gag gift, of course. He had also, however, been given a snow globe of the North Pole which, aside from being beautiful, would allow him to contact Santa.

Of course, now that Bernard remembered how to teleport he could be on his way home anytime he wanted, so it was a somewhat strange gift. It was almost like Santa expected him to call before coming back. Or, maybe he had provided it for another reason? Helen had seen the magical view of the goings on up at Santa's workshop through the snow globe, so it had probably helped a lot in convincing her to believe him so quickly.

"I wish I could go to the North Pole with you."

Bernard blinked, and glanced over to Helen. She sounded wistful...and hopeful, too. He tried to brush it off, and answered as cheerfully as he could.

"Ahh, well that's not really do-able. You _kind_ of have to be an elf. Or else you have to be family to Santa, and even _they_ only visit. Except for his wife, obviously."

"Well, I can totally go get myself some really good costume ears..." She was grinning, but Bernard could tell she was only half joking. He felt a twinge of sympathy, wishing there was something he could do to change the rules, but there really wasn't.

"I'm afraid that wouldn't cut it. You'd have to be an orphaned kid. We do have a few elves who used to be human, though it's pretty rare."

Helen stopped what she was doing, and stared over at him. "Are you serious? Do they...I don't know..."

"They kind of make the transition over time." Bernard went back to what he was doing, feeling a little odd talking about this.

"So their ears get pointy, and stuff?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

They both worked for a few moments in silence, before Helen went on. "Well, _I'm_ an orphan, even though I'm a grownup now."

Bernard laughed a little at that. She _really_ wanted to go! "No, sorry, that definitely only applies to kids."

"Darn." Helen grinned over at him. "So...Santa's obviously taken, but what if I can find some _elf_ willing to marry me? Would that work? I don't suppose you guys have a dating service?"

Bernard laughed hard at that, and Helen joined in after a moment. That was such a goofy idea, it really struck his funny bone! Not that she was wrong, if he remembered right, actually. He glanced back over to her after they had stopped laughing, expecting to see a matching grin. He got her profile instead, set in a half hearted smile.

Bernard quickly looked away, and concentrated on pouring the batter he'd been mixing into the muffin pan. They were making pop-ups.

He felt sorry for Helen. With her brother passing on, she had lost the last of her family- the family she knew and loved, anyway. She might have a few distant cousins or a great uncle, he supposed, but that wasn't much. And Bernard knew that soon, he would be going back to the North Pole, back to work. It seemed cruel. And he admitted, he would miss her too.

She was serious about wanting to go with him. Bernard stared over at her, watching as she quietly sliced carrots. He bet she'd even make a good worker. She was slicing those carrots very evenly. Precision was always useful. And, actually, she _was_ right about how she could stay at the North Pole...

"You'd stop aging, you know. And you'd get the pointy ears. Real ones."

Helen stopped chopping, and slowly looked up at him. "What?" She still looked a little sad, and it spurred Bernard's crazy train of thought on.

"I mean, if you married an elf. It would work, but you'd turn into an elf too." He found it hard to hold her gaze for some reason, and turned to the oven to set the temperature. "Hypothetically, if you found someone."

"I see." Helen stared at Bernard as he pushed buttons on the oven, a strange mix of nervousness and hope fluttering through her. "Are you married, Bernard?" She laughed immediately after. She almost wanted to say 'just kidding!' to lessen her embarrassment. How forward!

"No, no, I never went that route. I've been too focused on my work, I guess." He grinned over at her, his eyes mostly closed, and she couldn't read him at all. "Not that it would be for _real_, obviously. If you married an elf, I mean. It would just be a favor, a wedding in _name_ so you could work at the North Pole..."

"Right...of course. I mean, I could hardly ask a complete stranger to _marry_ me." Helen smiled gently to herself. She couldn't help it. She was really starting to hope. Maybe Bernard was serious, maybe he'd ask.

Bernard was having trouble with the oven. His fingers weren't working right. Or maybe the oven wasn't working right. Or maybe his brain wasn't working right! Any of that, or maybe all three! What was he thinking, almost offering to marry this human girl? He wasn't stupid, he _knew_ what he was implying! This was so...so _silly_! She was probably embarrassed by the whole thing, it was such a ridiculous proposition...

"Well, so what's the hold up, Bernard? _Propose_ already. Geeze, I only knew Carol, what, half a month before we tied the knot. Remember?"

Both Bernard and Helen jumped in the air, then turned around to see Santa Claus, of all people, standing in the kitchen entrance.

He was grinning. "Seriously. This is like that _karma _stuff Neil keeps going on about, Bernard."

* * *

><p>AN: Seriously, Tim Allen as Santa. Ho HO Ho! Ho Ho HO! :D<p> 


	8. Meet Santa and the Missus

Author's Disclaimer: I don't own Bernard or any other Santa Clause character. Helen is mine.

* * *

><p><strong>The Day Bernard Got Beaned (And What Happened After)<strong>

**Chapter Seven: Meet Santa and the Missus**

* * *

><p><strong>Previous:<strong>

"Well, so what's the hold up, Bernard? _Propose_ already. Geeze, I only knew Carol, what, half a month before we tied the knot. Remember?"

Both Bernard and Helen jumped in the air, then turned around to see Santa Claus, of all people, standing in the kitchen entrance.

He was grinning. "Seriously. This is like that _karma _stuff Neil keeps going on about, Bernard."

* * *

><p>After a long moment, Bernard got a hold of his wits again. "Yeah? Well, then that makes <em>Curtis<em> next in line."

"The little guy? Married?"

Bernard rolled his eyes. "We've been _over_ this. I'm _big_ for an elf. Curtis is average. _You_ of all people should know we're not kids, even if some of us look like it."

Santa tapped his forefingers together, as if thinking that through. "Except, when you _are_ kids, of course, like when elves have _baby_ elves..."

Bernard crossed his arms, a sardonic look on his face. "How I've missed your sense of humor."

Then they both grinned, much to the silent relief of Helen, who was somewhat caught between them.

"You guys weren't too worried about me, I hope?"

"Naaaw, well...maybe a _little_. We've never seen poor Chet so distraught! He's a changed reindeer. He _definitely_ won't be flying off anymore, especially since he couldn't remember where you'd fallen off- assuming he even noticed at the time."

"Well, he's _still_ pretty young, and it was partially my fault for not thinking it through. And I was in too much of a hurry, as usual..."

"Teleporting onto Chet's back _was_ pretty crazy..."

Bernard tightened his arms defensively. "I _told_ you, I wasn't _thinking_."

They both paused for a short moment, as if widening their vision, and Bernard turned to Helen. "Sorry about that. Santa here has a way of sucking you into _inane,_" he threw a pointed look at Santa, "conversations sometimes." Bernard was only poking fun though, and hoped she understood.

He turned back to Santa. "Santa, I'd like you to meet Helen. Helen, this is Santa."

Santa came forward, and gently took hold of Helen's tentatively proffered hand. "It's lovely to meet you, Helen. Thank you for taking such good care of my head elf. You have no idea how much he means to all of us."

Helen just stared for a moment, taking in his rosy cheeks, and the long white beard, and the beautiful, rich red and white Santa suit, which was nothing like what you'd see a mall Santa wear. It was lush and warm looking, and...it was _real_ clothing, not a costume. But the best thing was Santa's gentle, twinkling blue eyes. They were eyes that knew her, and belonged to the person who had brought her the dearest gifts she could ever want.

"Santa...thank you for the socks." It sounded silly, but he just smiled at her.

"I'm glad you like them, Helen."

* * *

><p>At some point between Santa's arrival and Christmas lunch, their party grew to include Mrs. Claus.<p>

And somehow, during the meal, the conversation came around to Helen's search for an eligible elf again, and Bernard's very nearly..._almost_-a-proposal. He had the feeling he was being tag teamed by Mr. and Mrs. Claus, and had to wonder, just a little, if this really _was_ payback for his incredible procrastination when it came to mentioning the Mrs. Clause part of being Santa.

That was clause with an 'e', of course, and not the Mrs. Claus sitting across from him now, tag teaming him.

"You know, sometimes true love just happens _fast_. That's how it was with Mrs. Claus and me. I think we went on maybe...two dates?" Santa glanced over to Carol, who shook her head.

"Nope, it was only one date, and it went bad, too."

Santa looked thoughtful for a moment. "That's _right_." He looked up, eyes sparkling as he grinned at Helen. "She wouldn't believe I was Santa!"

Santa and Carol smiled at each other, lost in a shared memory for a moment. Then they looked toward Bernard, quietly expectant. They kept leaving pauses like that, and they kept getting longer...

Bernard cleared his throat, and caught himself doing something he hadn't done in years: twirling his fork. He dropped it by accident, and the noise finally prompted him to look over at Helen. His voice wasn't working right, so what he said next came out sounding squeaky and a tad rushed.

"Well, Helen, it would be in name only, but if you _wanted_, we, we, we could get married. Then you could stay at the North Pole. And, you know, work under me as an elf."

Helen didn't need time to think. She didn't have to mull it over, or wonder if life would be better. She _knew_ she would be going to a place where miracles happened every day.

She jumped up, and hugged Bernard where he sat. "_Yes_! Thank you, Bernard. _Thank_ you."

Santa turned to Mrs. Claus, and whispered under his breath. "Wow, I never thought I'd see someone so eager to work under _Bernard_." Carol elbowed him gently in the ribs.

* * *

><p>AN: Ho ho HO. :)<p> 


	9. Happily

Author's Disclaimer: I don't own Bernard or any other Santa Clause character. Helen is mine.

* * *

><p><strong>The Day Bernard Got Beaned (And What Happened After)<strong>

**Epilogue: Happily  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The ceremony happened only an hour later. Mother Nature came over as a special favor to Santa, and Curtis came over to serve as a witness- and to provide a quickly procured ring (and a few unnecessary guffaws, in Bernard's opinion). It was very simple, much like Santa and Mrs. Claus' own ceremony had been, and before long Bernard and Helen were finishing up their vows.<p>

When it came time to kiss, Bernard leaned down and gave Helen a gentle, chaste peck on the cheek. Then they hugged, and before much longer, everyone was on their way to the North Pole, where a celebration and many congratulations awaited them, much to Bernard's embarrassment.

As far as Helen's old life was concerned, she kept in touch with a few people via her e-mail (though where she lived, the e stood for 'elf'), but for all intents and purposes she began a brand new life that Christmas day.

And Bernard wasn't too unhappy about the new setup, either, come to think of it. Not at all. There may even have been a proper wedding a few years later, followed by a few elvish children...and maybe even a happily ever after.

But that's another story.

The End.

* * *

><p>Author's Note: And that's it, kiddos. I hope anyone who read this enjoyed it. A review or two would be nice, if you did. I enjoyed writing it because it had a happy ending and I didn't have to worry about it too, too much. I just wrote it out, did a little editing, and done. :) Haaaaah. Stress relief. Belated Merry Christmas!<p> 


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